Category Archives: Expat

Silent Sunday: Happy Birthday UAE

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“It’s a special day today,” piped BB at breakfast this morning. “It’s Dubai’s birthday!” To be precise, it was the UAE’s National Day today, marking forty-one years since the UK’s treaty expired and the separate sheikdoms decided to form an independent union.

Across the emirates, there’s been a celebratory mood for several days now, with lots going on. Then this morning I looked at my phone to find an inspirational text from Dubai’s ruler, Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid al-Maktoum – it’s not every day that happens!

Having spent more time living in the UAE than anywhere else, my children were quite excited about ‘Dubai’s birthday’. BB made this at a Lego exhibition we went to today.

Having spent more time living in Dubai than anywhere else, my children were quite excited about ‘Dubai’s birthday’ (especially as it means two days off school!). BB made this at a Lego exhibition we went to today.

People decorate their cars and homes with the UAE flag – this was the flag at BB’s school. All the children wore national colours, or national dress, on Thursday to celebrate

People decorate their cars and homes with the UAE flag – this was the flag at BB’s school. All the children wore national colours, or national dress, on Thursday to celebrate

At LB’s school they’ve been learning about the UAE for a few weeks now. I love listening to the class counting in Arabic and naming the seven emirates. I also thought this camel he painted was rather cute!

At LB’s school they’ve been learning about the UAE for a few weeks now. I love listening to the class counting in Arabic and naming the seven emirates. I also thought this camel he painted was rather cute!

Kids, meet Baby Jesus

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While I personally think it’s still too early to put the Christmas tree up, my children disagree. I promised we’d do it today, and at 7 on the dot this morning, the pestering started.

“Mummy, c’mon. Get out of bed,” BB ordered, tugging at the duvet. “You said we’d put the tree up.”

No stopping them: My little helpers decorating the tree early this morning (yawn)

My little helpers throwing baubles at the tree

“Later, BB, later,” I uttered in reply, but to no avail. The kids’ excitement about hanging twinkly lights, baubles and tinsel on a fake tree had taken on the momentum of a runaway train that wasn’t about to be halted by a mummy hoping for a lie-in.

I gave in – and got up. We hauled the decorations from the outside storeroom to the house, dusted them off, and got started (minus the Christmas music – as I said, too blimin’ early).

You would think that living in a Muslim country might mean Christmas would start a little later. Not so. The shops are full of it, their floors adorned with trees and their windows decked out.

But the commercialism aside, it’s definitely harder to convey the true meaning of Christmas here. It’s all a bit of a hush-hush operation at BB’s international school, where they do put on a celebration, but disguised as a ‘winter festival’.

To be honest, my children don’t think beyond the presents – and I was reminded of my shortfall in this department today.

Each year, I bring out a nativity scene that I bought at a Christmas festival. As I was setting it up, LB came over and peered at the figurines: he touched the baby Jesus swaddled in the manger; looked quizzically at the reverent wise men bearing gifts, the proud, tired parents and the guardian angel. Then he reached out and grabbed the cow sitting lowing in the hay.

“Mummy, what is it?” he asked, with a not-so-reverent shine in his eyes. “Is it a farm?”

Mental note to self: make sure that this is the year my children learn the basic story of the nativity.

When visitors come to town

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For the past three weeks, we’ve had guests – first my mother-in-law and then my parents – and whilst I’d love to be able to tell you that we gave them a time-share in the grandchildren to remember, I’m not sure that we did.

Images of my mum floating round a lazy river, cocktail in hand at a pool bar or even relaxing on a lounger with a good book at the Polo Club didn’t materialise – because, to put it simply, life got in the way.

Nothing bad – just general busy-ness, scheduling clashes and a pesky flu bug – but enough to make me concerned that my parents’ visit could possibly be classed as unpaid labour, rather than a holiday.

xxxxxxx

Where would working families be without advanced babysitting from super-grandparents? It’s just too bad they’re thousands of miles away normally

In the line of ‘duty’ this time round:

– The boys got really sick, warranting two days off school for grandson2 and causing untold sleep disruption

– I missed much of the above because of work, leaving The Visitors in charge (as to who had the easier job here, I’m in no doubt – especially the night shifts which, quite frankly, leave me wanting to throw breakfast bowls at the wall)

– After a bad experience in a taxi, and only able to drive as far as Arabian Ranches, my parents are, understandably, loathed to venture out on their own (and I can’t say I blame them), meaning they’re confined to the house if on their own. The pool aside, the only place they can walk to from ours is the mini-mart supermarket and dry cleaners

– The Thanksgiving buffet my DH took them to ended in a monumental and very public puking session courtesy of ‘chunder wonder’ poorly grandson1

– During their stay, they were also bystanders to a flood at grandson1’s birthday party venue and a hospital appointment about his upcoming surgery

– They suffered made it through a children’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, attended by 24 six- and seven-year olds

– DH, our main driver and peace-keeper, succumbed to the bug, mutated it into ‘man-flu’ and developed sciatica too

On the upside, some highlights I hope The Visitors enjoyed:

– Trips to a desert wildlife centre in Sharjah, the pool, a beach resort and Al-Barsha park

– A dhow cruise out into the Gulf and through the heart of Dubai Marina, followed by Arabic food

– For my dad, two glorious days of golf at the DP World Tour Championship, our trump card and just down the road from us

– Business class travel, both ways

What do you think? Do you think they’ll come back? I think they will – for the golf, at least, with their flu jabs topped up.

Starsky & Hutch security

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For the most part, the compound in which we live is a quiet place.

Apart from occasional activity at the nearby airbase (oh, and the ear-splitting sound of the Russian cargo planes that buzz us nearly every night), there’s definitely an air of calm about our community.

Located out of the city, in a vast expanse of never-ending desert, it feels very safe, family-friendly and removed from the hustle and bustle of Dubai.

The security guards who work here don’t exactly have a hard job. They man the entrance, waving in anyone who looks like an expat, and are seen walking round the compound looking for trouble – of which there’s usually none.

Their biggest excitement took place a couple of weeks ago, when the perpetrator of one of the few petty crimes to have been committed out here was busted. A housemaid, most likely from an impoverished background, allegedly stole a bicycle, somehow chopped it up into pieces and tried to get it out of the compound in a truck.

She was caught in the act and security swooped in Starsky and Hutch style. The police were called and sped into our community at break-neck speed, their lights flashing and a whirl of dust in their wake.

I honestly thought someone must have been shot in an expat gin-fueled domestic bust-up, the police officers moved so fast.

You see, a stolen bicycle is about as exciting as it gets if you’re a security guard working out here – which probably explains why they have to find things to do to keep themselves busy.

Like ambling around checking on parked cars.

My next-door neighbour left her vehicle parked in front of her villa, with the windows down, for an hour yesterday and discovered this note on the car.

In case you can’t read it, it (very politely) says, “Pls close your vehicle window glasses properly. Thank you”.

How I wish I had THAT MUCH time on my hands – but my favourite is number 3.

“……………….is leaking from your car and spoiling the appearance of the parking area.”

One can only imagine what they’ll come up with to fill in the blank.

Flying with kids: Risky business

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A highly coveted perk among airline families – the holy grail for many I know – is being able to travel in business class with small children. Yes, your whole tribe, seated at the front of the aircraft, or up top in the case of the superjumbo – with acres of leg-room, fine dining and the chance for some mummy respite in the A380’s on-board bar.

This story was told to me by a fellow pilot’s wife and I’m repeating it here because the incident not only makes me hoot with laughter, but (and I know she won’t mind me telling you this) it was probably THE most embarrassing mummy moment of her entire nine years of motherhood. I think we can all relate, wherever we sit on the aircraft…

And then the day was finally upon us, and we could book seats for both myself and my small children in the business class cabin of the airplane taking us home.

Now THIS is the way to travel

Business class travel is indeed very special. The cabin itself seems to sparkle and twinkle with just enough ‘specialness’ to make anyone smile. But it’s the space that’s the real bonus. Not just the extra-large seats, or the super-big TV screens, there just seems to be enough space around you and your family to be able to settle in comfortably.

And settle in we did; the pillows a little softer, the blankets a little fluffier. I soon had both of my children cocooned into balls of happiness; DS happy to explore the myriad of games and cartoons on offer, DD’s little hands searching out all the extra buttons and switches not previously discovered on any seat before.

‘What’s this Mummy?’ she asked as she picked up the console that tucks neatly into a pocket on the arm of her seat.

‘Well, you can call the attendant by pushing a button here,’ I explain, ‘But wait, if you press here your seat will give you a massage.’ Peels of delight ensue from DD, already a disciple of the body rub, as she tries out all the different ways she could make her seat tickle and shudder. Was this not heaven? If I have a predictable difficult period with my daughter on flights it’s right at the beginning, getting her to settle down. But, thanks to the wonders of the juddering seat, we’re looking like the perfect family unit and I’m sipping champagne …

During our summer stay, the kids were quick to tell everyone about their trip in business class. ‘Oh!….how lovely’ was the response as most pictured these tiny dots sipping wine and eating caviar – and I would watch as their eyebrows disappeared up into their hair lines.

The cheese platter – and the kids won’t send it flying

‘And what was the thing you liked best about travelling in business class?’ they’d ask.

‘The computer games,’ was DS’s stalwart response. The games are the same, incidentally, wherever you sit on the aircraft.

‘The massage button!’ squealed DD, ‘I had a massage all the way from Dubai to England!’ Now, this was altogether more like the example of over-indulgence that many were on the lookout for. So on several occasions during our stay, DD was encouraged to repeat the story of the seat that gave her a massage and how she was going to have one all the way back to Dubai too.

On our trip home, as we board through doors at the very front of the aircraft, I immediately see that we are travelling in an older plane than the one in which we arrived. Characteristically stoic, DS flops down in to his ample seating, grabs the control and settles down for the long flight. Not so DD.

‘Oh no, Mummy. This is not right!’ She picks at the cover placed over the arm of her seat until it comes away in her hand only to reveal the arm of the chair.

‘But where is the thing? Where is the massage button? I can’t see it!’ Her lip beginning to tremble just as the gangways either side of us fill up with slow moving – hmm, yes, now stationary – economy passengers queuing quietly to get to their seats. I sense the impending storm …

‘Why don’t we see what film we can find for you to watch, or maybe a game to play….?’ My powers of deflection moving up into overdrive instantaneously. ‘Hey, do you want to look at my magazine…..? Have that chocolate bar I bought in the coffee shop just now….. how about my entire handbag? Here, take it. Take a good look……!’ But it was all in vain…

‘But I want a massage!’ DD cries, literally cries. Huge tears rolling down her cheeks as her whole body begins to heave. All eyes are on us. ‘It’s alright darling,’ I croon, pulling her tiny frame on to my lap, ‘It’s not the end of the world. There really are worse things that can happen.’

‘But it is!” she cries, ‘It is the end of the world! I don’t want to be on this plane. I want to get off this plane right now and get on one where I sit in a seat that GIVES ME A MASSAGE!’

Powerless to stop her, I resorted to putting my hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle what she was actually saying.

Thank heavens for the crew member (who has probably seen it all). ‘Champagne madam?’ she smiles, ‘Or is that a very large white wine?’

“My status updates are lies”

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Actually they’re not (that was just to get your attention!), but expats in Dubai are in pole position to win a Twitter or Facebook boast-off, it seems.

Three out of five adults in the UAE have lied on social media websites to sound smarter, according to a global survey. About the same number even confessed to tampering with photos to make themselves look more attractive.

I’m sure people do this all round the world (and who wouldn’t want their eyebags airbrushed, their fine lines smoothed?), but in this corner of the globe, we’re apparently particularly good at creating online personas as shiny as Dubai’s Gold Souk.

We’re so good at it, in fact, that two-thirds of the adults surveyed in the UAE wished they were more like their stage-managed online versions.

Twitter trumpet: “Dinner at the Burj tonight, champers tomorrow at brunch! #BeachLater #LifeIsGood”

So what is it that drives UAE residents to tell more fibs than those living across the rest of the Middle East and Europe? Why have more than half of us told ‘social lies’ to impress others?

The answer could be the lack of a support network. People move here away from their families and friends who know them well – and who would usually be the first to spot a lie.

Then there’s the pressure that exists to be successful in a city such as Dubai – and to show friends and family back home how supposedly glossy and exciting their new life in the UAE is.

How many desert-dwellers, for example, are guilty of putting photos up on Facebook of a smiling family in front of the Burj, with a bright-blue, cloudless sky in the background and the caption, “Beautiful day in Dubai today”, when in reality it was hot and humid?

The survey results got me thinking about some of the little white lies that mums in Dubai might tell … here are a few examples:

– “I was so lucky – my baby slept through the night from 10 days old”

– “I’d never let our housemaid get up in the night if Veronica was wailing!”

– “My daughter did her homework all by herself. Really.”

– “I never thought of looking on Pinterest for my son’s school project!”

– “Oh this old thing! [touches fuchsia pink Whistles dress] …I just found it in the cupboard”

– “My children would never eat chicken McNuggets!”

– “It was on sale”

– “The mummy tummy will be as flat as a washboard in six weeks”

– “My eyebrows are naturally high”

– “I’m sorry I can’t be class mum..I’m thinking of getting a job”

24-hour Sherpa shopping

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Dubai is known for its swanky malls and shopping festivals, and over the past three weeks it’s even been possible to indulge the habit at 3am on weekends.

Shopaholics, insomniacs and jet-lagged tourists were treated to round-the-clock shopping at several malls across the city as part of the Eid celebrations – though I hear it was mainly the food outlets that visitors flocked to in the small hours rather than the stores.

I wasn’t one of them – NOTHING, not even a night shopping deal would drag me from my bed and to the mall in the middle of the night, but we did end up at Mirdif City Centre on Saturday, where I found myself browsing the shop windows with a mixture of frustration and envy.

The stores are crammed with swathes of winter clothes – jackets, sweaters, faux furs, scarves – of the Sherpa variety.

I mean, have I missed something over the past four years in Dubai?

Like a big snow.

Cutsie winter clothes that my children will never wear in Dubai. When I popped in to look for a UV sun top, the assistant told me, “Sorry Ma’am, the season’s over.” Over! It’s only just begun!

I’d love to be able to wear this jacket, but if I did I’d feel like a boil-in-the-bag dinner. I know items like this are targeted at the tourists (despite surely not being any cheaper), but couldn’t stores like Gap, H&M and M&S modify their winter collections for Dubai? Per-leez?

And this shop window just takes the biscuit: HELLO! Do you know where we are? THE DESERT!!

Silent Sunday: Eid

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Tower with a twist

It’s the Eid holiday here in Dubai. The weather is finally perfect (87° and sunny), the children are off school, and by a stroke of luck my DH’s trip to London got cancelled.

Thank you, crew scheduling! (and thank you, DH, for not disappearing off to Tokyo instead.)

We’re just coming to the end of four days of family time, and thanks to the mercury dropping, we’ve been outside nearly the whole time – honestly, we tough it out through the long hot, sticky summers for glorious days like these.

Since water-based activities are still the order of the day, we kick-started Eid with a dhow cruise around Dubai Marina – and I just loved the twisted tower, pictured left, that we sailed past.

But the thing that made me laugh was that while we were on Captain Jack’s family wooden boat – sitting comfortably on enormous bean bags atop the deck of the beautifully varnished vessel – several super yachts sped by, one with a pair of bikini-clad blondes at the helm who turned the heads of the dads on our boat.

How children change everything, I smiled to myself!

The view from Captain Jack’s boat

The pleasure boat I bet half the dads wished they were on!

Silent Sunday: Gym rules part 2

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I posted about the rules in our compound gym before. Today, I noticed there was another board of more-detailed corkers regulations on another wall. I’ve circled two of my favourites below:

But what about the grunters, I found myself thinking?

My prize, though, for the funniest gym rule (‘Please wipe sweat on the machines. Thank you’) still goes to Asia Vu, a wonderful blog about expat life in South Korea.

Accidental insults at the beauty salon

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Everyone knows there are high standards in Dubai when it comes to appearance – and the school run is no exception. Someone was just telling me the other day how her husband’s friend, visiting from the UK, accompanied her on the school pick-up with his eyes on stalks.

It helps that we live in a hot climate, of course; many women are tanned and if not, they at least look sun kissed. Over-sized sunglasses hide a multitude of cosmetic sins, nails are painted bright colours and sparkly flip flops add a flash of bling.

The fact Dubai is populated by so many nationalities means there are always exotic-looking mums from places like Lebanon, Cyprus or Jordan on the school run – their swishy hair, pretty, size-6 sundresses and lack of sweat pores creating an unmissable dash of school-gate glamour.

Nails today, Botox tomorrow

It goes without saying that Dubai is full of beauty salons, whose job it is to keep these women looking fresh and youthful. Inside the salons’ hallowed walls, you’ll find ladies being preened, threaded and waxed to perfection. Normal folk, like me, also frequent these havens for much-needed maintenance.

But, looking your best doesn’t always come easy. Aside from the expense and time needed, there are cultural differences that every woman in Dubai has a story about. By this, I mean the way beauty therapists accidentally insult their clients, rather than making them feel uplifted with good-old-fashioned flattery.

You might, for example, be offered a new wrinkle cream, or told they can’t do the massage because you’re pregnant (when you’re not). You might be having your eyebrows done and asked if you’d like your upper-lip moustache waxed too. Or offered some special whitening cream to make your skin look less black. There are loads more examples on Catboy’s Facebook page and they’re all hilarious.

Not being immune to the cosmetic pressures that exist in Dubai, and being married to a pilot who regularly visits exotic locations with 27 flight attendants (I’ll say that again, 27! And all in their 20s), I pop to the salon when time permits [whispers: I’ve heard if you don’t, it’s a little like your husband bringing a ham sandwich in a brown paper bag to brunch].

Bet HER cosmetic surgeon is a Facebook friend

Last week, I was there for some laser hair removal [lowers voice again: on my chin]. I’ve been having IPL (intense pulsed light) on some stubborn areas for years due to polycystic ovaries, it never works permanently and I must have spent a fortune on it. Usually I have the same person, who just gets on with it, but this time a new technician walked in. A talkative lady, who felt like a bit of chit-chat.

After some small talk, she popped the dark glasses on me, peered closely and, with a hint of concern in her voice, asked: “When did you last come?”

“Um, yes, it was a while ago. I was gone for the summer,” I replied, by way of explanation.

“Yes, too much,” she tutted. “Too much!” [c’mon, it’s not THAT bad!]

Then came the sound of her padding across the room to fiddle with the machine – presumably to switch it to a higher setting.

“Oh. You have hair here too. You want removed?”

“No, thank you. That’s fine.”

“Maybe next time,” she suggested, helpfully. “Where are you from?”

“The UK,” I mumbled, wondering what she could possibly ask next – whether everyone in the UK was hairy, perhaps?

Quite honestly, if I could have walked out the salon with that brown paper bag over my head, I think I would have done.

Could have been worse, I suppose. She could have recommended I take Pregnacare vitamins.

This post was written in support of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I’ve got my pink on and urge readers to check your bumps for lumps. Early detection saves lives